so i wait for you like a lonely house
by whilewewereyetsinners
Summary: Steve struggles to adapt to the modern world, and his friends help as best they can. Meanwhile, Tony discovers his father tried to invent a time machine. No one's really surprised by what happens next... Cross-posted on Ao3. Team as family because canon is dumb, Steggy, canon pairings, time travel, AU fix-it, written pre-Endgame when we still thought a fix-it was necessary.
1. a certain pang of grief

so I wait for you like a lonely house

1\. a certain pang of grief

.

She'd been his only thought in that brief, drowsy moment between sleep and wakefulness, the last peaceful moment before he realized that everything was wrong, the feel of the sheets and the smell of the room and the ballgame and that he was waking at all.

He hadn't wanted to die, but he'd known he was going to. What was his life, his dreams, compared to the lives and dreams of thousands of innocent civilians? What other option was there?

But now, despite all expectations, he was awake in this unimaginably startling and lonely future. Sleep was a refuge, and he often dreamed of her, of true things past and things longed for that could never be. But even when she wasn't in his dreams, as he surfaced from sleep she was always his first thought.

And in that cruel moment he was happy.

.

.

Tony frowned down at Steve's sleeping face. "What's wrong with him? He looks weird."

"Nothing's wrong with him. He's sleeping," Natasha replied dispassionately, not bothering to look up from her phone. She flicked out a hand to grab his arm as he moved closer. "Leave him alone, Stark."

He leaned sharply forward, pulling her with him and ignoring her annoyed hiss. "Look at his face," he insisted. A smile quirked Steve's mouth before he murmured something unintelligible and shifted on the sofa. Tony whispered triumphantly, "See?! What is it they say about babies? That they have gas or something? Do you think he's sick? I'll have JARVIS run a diagnostic."

Natasha was looking at him like he was a peculiarly stupid worm. "He's dreaming. You idiot."

"And what blissful dreams they must be!"

Thor's voice came from immediately behind his right shoulder, but Tony did not jump. Or make any kind of noise. So Natasha could just stop smirking, immediately if not sooner.

Steve twitched at the loud voice and woke, faint smile still on his face.

And then his expression crumbled.

It was only for a second. Steve Rogers was an old hand now at pasting a smile on his face, hiding his emotions behind old-fashioned manners and a strong work ethic. It was how he'd been raised, and in the confusion of discovering he'd been flung nearly seventy years into the future he'd been glad to have that early training to fall back on.

So, it was only a second. But judging by the confusion on Tony's face and the way Nat's lips were pressed together, it was long enough.

"Excuse me," Steve said politely, and fled.

Tony took a step to follow him, and Natasha's hand tightened to the point of pain.

"Leave him alone, Stark," she repeated slowly and menacingly.

"But," he protested in bewilderment, "what just happened?"

She mutely refused to answer. She released his arm, then pulled out a knife (that was so long she shouldn't have been able conceal it anywhere on her person) and began to sharpen it.

He ignored the implicit threat and turned to the other person in the room.

"We all have our griefs to bear," Thor said simply.

"Huh," replied Tony.

.

.

An hour later, he was sitting in his lab watching JARVIS-provided security footage of the gym. When Steve destroyed his second reinforced, superhuman-strength-resistant punching bag and started in on a third, Tony went to find Bruce.

.

.

"You shouldn't go prying into other people's griefs," Bruce said reprovingly.

"Yeah, yeah, but I don't get what griefs he could have! He's alive, he gets to do his righteous Cap schtick, and the modern world is _way_ better, and…" he trailed off under his friend's incredulous look. "What?"

"Tony, he was frozen for almost _seventy years_." This was said with a degree of patience that Tony found unnecessary. "While this time may have many advantages, it was still completely foreign to him. Everything is different. Everyone he knew back then is dead. And—" Bruce stopped short and tried to disguise it by taking a sip of tea.

"What?" Tony demanded suspiciously.

The other man sighed. "I thought you went through his file?"

"I did!" Sort of, anyway. He'd started skimming after it became clear the guy was all buddy-buddy with Howard.

"Maybe you should go through it again."

.

.

So Tony went through it again, even though the guy's sparkly goodness made his head ache and reading his father's admiration and grief made him want to put on the suit and decimate a few punching bags of his own. But he gritted his teeth and kept going, only to reach the end and sit back, unenlightened.

"What am I missing, JARVIS? Everyone else knows something that I don't."

"That must be distressing, sir," JARVIS offered blandly.

Tony rolled his eyes. "Why did I program you with sarcasm again?"

"Because you wished me to resemble Edwin Jarvis in personality as closely as possible." The AI paused, then added almost insolently, "Sir."

"Well, I can deprogram it," Tony muttered. He scrubbed his hands over his face. "Seriously, what am I missing?"

"Perhaps what you seek is in the video footage?"

"There's video footage, too?" he exclaimed, dismayed.

So he watched the video footage of a skinny little guy being closed into a metal contraption to emerge huge and strong and gasping for air. He watched footage that was _pure gold_, potential blackmail material that he wished he'd seen before of Steve (the Star-Spangled Man with a Plan!) surrounded by showgirls and punching Hitler and he was offended, really, that no one had ever showed him this. Then he watched newsreel after newsreel of Captain America planning missions, setting off, and returning victorious; Steve's bashful sideways looks as he tried to ignore the cameras in the earliest ones slowly morphing into an indifference to the media's presence that even Tony could tell was feigned. Finally, in what Tony knew had to be one of the last ones simply because of the date, Steve checked his ever-present compass and the camera zoomed in on the photograph inside it. He shot a conscious, irritated glance at the cameraman and clicked it decisively closed.

Bingo.

"JARVIS, who's that?"

Two hours later, Tony Stark knew everything JARVIS could unearth about Agent Margaret "Peggy" Carter.

.

.

"Pepper, Pepper, wake up!" He bounced on the bed enthusiastically, just in case his words weren't enough, and she groaned.

"What is it? It's," she blinked at the clock, trying to focus. "Tony, it's almost three in the morning. What?"

"I figured out what's wrong with Steve!"

She stared blearily at him and asked blankly, "What?"

"He's sad and I didn't know why, because let's be honest this century is awesome, but it's because he thinks the woman he loves is dead." Tony paused, then added grudgingly, "Well, her and everyone else he knew."

"You mean Agent Carter?"

"Why does everyone know about her and I didn't?!" he demanded. She opened her mouth and he waved a hand. "No, never mind, don't tell me. Just listen, JARVIS helped me research her—and this is the best part—she disappeared in 1949!"

Pepper just blinked at him. "How is that the best part?"

"Because she could still be alive!" he proclaimed, as though it should be obvious.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes, then pushed her hair back from her face, holding it in one hand at the nape of her neck. "Are you serious?"

"Deadly. He went through our entire stockpile of punching bags today, Pep. We have to do something."

Pepper nodded absently. "JARVIS told me; I already ordered two dozen more."

He studied her face. "You're not excited about this at all. We can try to find her. She disappeared, Pepper, anything could have happened!"

His girlfriend sighed and lay back down. "'Anything could have happened' means that something terrible probably did." She looked at his expression and continued more gently, "Besides, even if she is alive, do you realize how old she'll be? How can finding her possibly help?"

Tony was silent for a long moment. "There was a picture, Pepper. I don't think they knew it was being taken. The two of them were in the background looking at each other, and their faces…"

"You have to let it go, Tony," she said sleepily, sadness in her voice. "Some things even you can't fix."

He lay awake long after Pepper's breathing eased back into sleep.

He was Tony Stark.

He could fix anything.

* * *

**A/N: Copying this over from Ao3 - started posting it before Endgame with its lovely, bewildering, glorious ending that I'm still a bit stunned about, tbh. But you can never have too many different time travel fics, right? :D It's completely posted over there - I'll get it all up here in the next day or two. Hope you enjoy - please let me know what you think!**


	2. nothing left but tragic windows

2\. nothing left but tragic windows

.

He started drawing again. The _scritch_ of the charcoal pencil on paper was the same in any century—tears stung his eyes when he realized it, because it had been months since he'd woken and it was the very first thing to have remained exactly the same.

But he was determined to only draw things from this new world. He couldn't live in his old one no matter how much he wanted to, and at least now he could draw people living in a time of peace, unlike his last sketchbooks which were filled with people at war.

So he did. He drew children in the park, chasing each other and laughing. He drew the two wizened old men he passed every day on his way to work, and tried not to wonder if they'd been friends since childhood. He drew the toddler on her father's shoulders, slumped in sleep over his head, and the look of amusement and love on her mother's face as she looked at them. He drew hot dog vendors and uniformed prep school students and young people playing a pick-up game of football and policemen on horseback and nurses smoking cigarettes outside a hospital and a briskly walking group of nuns. And then he drew Bucky as he was before the Army and war and imprisonment and torture. Bucky grinning, and at peace.

He looked at it for a long time before deciding it could stay in his modern sketchbook. He turned the page and began drawing the people in his new life: Tony gesturing widely with a screwdriver in one hand and a beer bottle in the other; Pepper, wearing stilettos and exuding efficiency and kindness; Clint target shooting while hanging upside down from the ceiling; Thor looking larger than life in jeans and a t-shirt; Bruce, a mug of tea in his hands and a harassed look on his face as he talked with Fury; Natasha, her dispassionate expression just beginning to turn to a raised-brow smirk.

Unintentionally, the next thing he drew was Peggy's fist distorting Hodge's face.

Then, as though unleashed, he couldn't stop. He tried to just draw bits of her—a dark, smiling mouth; curls against the curve of her cheek; her lips pressed together when she shot at him—but the bits weren't enough.

So he decided to purge himself of her, to pour it all out on the page: Peggy crisply neat in her uniform on base and tousled but no less professional out on missions with the Howling Commandos. He drew her frowning and smiling and irritated and smug, he drew her doing one-armed push-ups and playing cards with the boys and talking to Phillips and laughing at Dum Dum's jokes and rolling her eyes at Howard. He drew her look of stubborn determination when anyone suggested she couldn't do her job properly because of her gender. He drew her sitting on a fallen log with Bucky, the two of them sneaking glances at him as they plotted to get him to eat or sleep. He drew her the way she looked at him after she'd been shot, the way she looked at him before they kissed, after they kissed… He drew the way she looked at him the last few months he knew her, the softness in her eyes, the expression she reserved only for him.

He filled the remaining pages in his first sketchbook, nearly finished another, and finally stopped drawing only because his hands were shaking too much to continue. _I can't do this_, he thought desperately, then promptly refused to allow himself to think about exactly what he meant.

He tucked the sketchbooks away, somewhere safe but not readily accessible, and put his pencils with them.

He didn't plan on drawing anymore.

.

.

Tony Stark could fix anything. He could. He liked the idea of being a fixer, of making things better.

The problem was he didn't have anything to work with.

Peggy Carter disappeared the week before Christmas in 1949 and was never seen again. Everything he found agreed on that. There wasn't any indication that she went back to England, made any effort to access her financial assets, or contacted anyone she knew at the SSR, the fledgling SHIELD, WWII, or even from her childhood. For all intents and purposes, she just vanished.

Tony could see two obvious possibilities. She was a spy, and from what he could tell, a good one. She could have squirrelled assets away and gone to ground. If she'd decided not to be found, she had a good chance, especially back then, of getting away with it. He didn't see any assets missing—she seemed to have everything she should have in the bank—but there could be money he didn't know about from her pre-war days.

The other possibility was that she disappeared because she was dead. Again, she was a spy, and most certainly had enemies.

He didn't like either one of these possibilities. They had only one outcome, and that was failure.

He was not going to fail. He was going to fix this.

"Damn it," he muttered, and scrubbed his hands over his face. "JARVIS, I'm going to need Howard's notebooks after all."

"Very good, sir." There was a whirring sound as JARVIS opened the wall safe where Tony had stashed them, planning to leave them, untouched and unread, forever. Or until the Tower crumbled into dust. Whichever came first.

"Damn it," he growled again, and tossed the box of notebooks on the table.

.

.

"Really, Howard, how could you have thought that about particle physics?" his son asked derisively.

The notebooks were kind of a mess. Detailed scientific schematics were immediately followed by rank gossip about a date; good science was mixed in with bad science was mixed in with comments about his breakfast.

Well, at least reading them was more entertaining than he'd expected.

He'd skipped over the earliest ones, choosing to start with the one dating from his father's—Howard's—involvement with Project Rebirth. Howard mentioned Agent Carter often, his prurient interest changing to an affectionate admiration over time. Tony read with especial glee of the multiple times Peggy had rebuffed his father's advances, his opinion of her rising with every sarcastic refusal.

And then Steve arrived on the scene, scrawny and so unhealthy that Howard thought the serum might kill him instead of transforming him.

Howard, he noted, seemed almost as bewildered by Steve's goodness as Tony himself was. _What must it be like_, he wrote, _to not have to try to do what's right? To have it be your first instinct?_

"What, indeed," Tony muttered, feeling a greater affinity with his father in that moment than he'd ever experienced through science.

It was an uncomfortable feeling. He shook it off and kept reading.

In between scientific formulas and flings with showgirls, Howard wrote of Peggy and Steve. It was just little throwaway lines here and there: predicting their romance then gloating over his prescience, commenting when he knew they'd gotten to see each other, speculating how soon after the war they would marry (or if they would even wait that long) and listing reasons why they should name their firstborn Howard.

He wrote of Steve's grief at Bucky Barnes' death.

Then he wrote of Peggy's grief at Steve's.

He didn't write of his own, though the pages were saturated with it. He wrote of months and months of expeditions, of searching for Steve long after the Tesseract was found and he'd been given the order to stop.

The notebooks became more impersonal then, more strictly devoted to science. Tony drank more coffee and ate a sandwich someone (he didn't see who) put in front of him, and read on.

He was getting close to the end of 1949 when the writing in the notebook he was reading stopped.

Tony flipped through it, confused. There were about twenty pages left in the book, and his father _never_ left blank pages. In the other notebooks, he'd started on the inside of the front cover, had written and drawn over every inch of every page, and had continued onto the inside of the back cover and sometimes onto the outside of it.

He flipped through the notebook again and realized three—no, four—pages had been carefully excised before the remaining pages were left blank.

Frowning, he shuffled through the pile and found the next one, opened it, then tossed it away from him like it was on fire.

"What _the hell_?"

He used the tip of one finger to lift the cover. The first page still said what he thought it did.

With a quick shove of his feet, he rolled his chair as far from the table as it would go and took a deep breath. When that was insufficient he took another one, and another, then said levelly, "JARVIS, get Bruce down here. Now, please."

.

.

Bruce strode into the lab looking even more rumpled than usual, as though he'd been roused from a nap. "What's wrong? JARVIS said to hurry. Wait, are you reading your father's notebooks?"

Tony nodded from his spot against the wall. He'd obviously been running his hands through his hair because it was all standing on end. "There's one—the cover says December 1949—it…" his voice trailed off and Bruce frowned at his unnatural search for words. "Just read the first page, okay?"

Bruce, still frowning, found the notebook, but before he could open it Tony blurted out, "Wait! Just, take a deep breath or drink some tea or something. Take a Xanax. You gotta be calm. Don't Hulk out on me, okay?"

"Tony, what is going on?" his friend demanded.

"Calm, Bruce," he said quietly. "Please."

"Okay, okay." Bruce took a slow breath, just to pacify him, then opened the cover.

He stared down at the page for a long moment, closed the notebook, and placed it gingerly back on the table.

"It says what I thought it does, then?"

"What _the hell_?" Bruce said blankly.

Tony sighed. Yeah, it said what he thought.

.

.

_December 22, 1949_

_Dear Tony,_

_I was surprised to learn your name. I had always expected to name a son after myself, but perhaps your mother had different ideas. I cannot speak to that, as I have no idea who your mother is. _

_This is all very strange. Fascinating though, that cannot be denied. _

_But I'm getting ahead of myself. If you've read my other notebooks then you know of my friendship with Peggy Carter. She disappeared two days ago and I feared the worst—she's made some powerful enemies, and I thought perhaps her involvement this year in founding SHIELD had made one (or more) of them determined to remove her. But this morning, to the relief of myself and the Jarvises, I received a letter from her._

_She said you and a friend had come to fetch her, using a time machine that I began creating and you completed. She said Steve had been found in the future, frozen, and thawed out and was alive. Is alive! That's rather awful to consider, that as I write this he's alive and frozen somewhere in the Arctic—but I can't try to find him now, can I? Not without messing up the future, and I wouldn't dare risk ruining Peggy's happiness. She puts on a good show, but part of her still grieves for him, I know. She said her going wouldn't mess anything up, since all your records said she disappeared in 1949. Which is now, and she did, and isn't this whole thing incredible?_

_I've burned her letter as she instructed me to do, but I couldn't resist the urge to write to you this once. I'm thrilled that you also love scientific discovery and I cannot wait to meet you._

_Sincerely yours,_

_Your father_

_P.S. That felt very strange to write, but I'm sure I will grow accustomed to it._

_._

_._

"A time machine?" Bruce asked incredulously, when they'd finally buoyed themselves sufficiently to read the letter.

"A time machine," Tony repeated gleefully. Excitement was beginning to outweigh his shock. "Well, let's see his plans. I don't have high hopes for them—you should have seen what he thought about particle physics back in '42!"

"Tony," the other said repressively, "there's no such thing as time travel."

"Of course not," he replied distractedly, rummaging through the disordered notebooks. "I haven't finished it yet."

Bruce sighed, and gave up. There was no arguing with Tony when he was in this state of mind.

.

.

"Psst! Nat!"

Natasha didn't look up from painting her nails. "Clint, if you want me to talk to you come down out of the ceiling."

He dropped lightly to the floor. "You'll never guess what I just heard," he said smugly.

"What?" she asked mechanically.

"You have to guess!"

She put the brush in the bottle and leaned back in her chair. "In this Tower, you could have heard literally anything. Just tell me."

"Aw, Nat, you're no fun!"

She rolled her eyes and stared at him until he began talking.

She was still staring when he finished, though during his recitation of events her expression had changed from affectionate exasperation to the dispassionate stare she wore when readying herself for battle.

"What?" Clint demanded.

"Tony can't tell Steve about this. Not until it's done." She got to her feet and headed for the door, determined to convince Stark of that herself. "Depending on what happens, maybe not even then."

.

.

They tried to keep the secret, but unfortunately for them, Steve wasn't oblivious. Somewhere between the arrival of an excited Jane Foster and Bruce's metaphorical throwing up of his hands and decision to help, he figured out something exceptionally unusual was transpiring. A week went by, and despite his best covert efforts he was unable to discover what it was. Finally, he decided the direct approach was prudent, and cornered Thor (as much as one can corner an alien god) one day as he loitered in the hallway outside Tony's lab.

"So, what's going on?"

"Greetings, Captain!" Thor replied brightly. "I am waiting for the emergence of my lady Jane, as I am to join her for dinner."

"No," Steve retorted. "I mean, _what is going on_? What are they trying to build in there?"

Thor looked disconcerted. "I'm afraid I may not say."

"Why not? You know what, never mind."

He banged on the door with his fist until Tony yanked it open, grumbling, "Cool your jets, I'm here…oh, Spangles, it's you. Why are you trying to dent my door? It's not dentable, by the way; it's reinforced with—"

"Tony," Steve interrupted in a firm, no-nonsense voice, "what are you working on?"

He scratched the back of his neck, refusing to meet Steve's eyes. "I can't tell you that, actually, since my life and health have been threatened if I do and—"

"Tony!" Steve snapped.

"Ms. Potts is in a meeting, but I have requested Agent Romanoff's presence," JARVIS interjected tersely, and despite himself Steve began to worry that Tony was doing something actually _wrong_, instead of possibly inadvisable.

"It's not anything bad, Steve," Bruce said calmly, accurately reading his expression and elbowing a spluttering Tony aside. "Tony found something… important in his father's notes and he, Dr. Foster, and I have been experimenting to see if it's viable."

"You read Howard's notebooks?" Steve asked in surprise, momentarily diverted. "I thought you were never going to—"

"Yeah, yeah, well, I was researching something and you know how it goes, one thing led to another, and now, look at the time!" He tried to close the door. "Gotta go, Gramps, left a pot on the stove."

Steve kept his hand braced against the door, easily holding it open despite Tony's best efforts. "What hare-brained idea of Howard's are you working on, and why don't you want me to know about it?" His eyes widened. "You aren't trying to replicate the serum, are you?"

"What?" Tony looked genuinely surprised and Steve felt something in him relax. "No, of course not. It's just, I told you already, if I tell you, someone has threatened, very convincingly, to kill me, and you know, I have philosophical objections to being dead, so—"

"We're trying to build a time machine," Bruce interrupted, just as Natasha arrived on the scene. He met her glower with a calm look of his own. "I know why you didn't want him to know, but there's no keeping it from him now."

Steve stared at them in disbelief. "That's not possible. Are you…you are. You're serious." Hope surged rebelliously inside him and unable to stop himself, he blurted out, "If you can build it, could you…can I go back?"

"No, Steve," Natasha said into the heavy silence, her voice unprecedentedly gentle. "You can't go back."

"Oh," he said numbly. "Of course. I mean. Of course I can't go."

"It's just, the time stream, Cap," Tony said hoarsely. He cleared his throat, trying to sound normal. Nonchalant. "Your disappearance is too significant; it would change too many things if you showed back up."

"Of course," Steve repeated. He gestured vaguely at the hallway. "I'm just going to…" He was unable to think of anything he wanted to do besides flee, so he did, managing just barely to keep from running.

"I _told_ you," Natasha hissed viciously, and took off in the other direction.

Clint's voice filtered out from somewhere inside the wall. "I've got her."

"Captain Rogers appears to be going to the gymnasium," JARVIS informed them all.

"Of course he is," Bruce said wearily, rubbing his hands over his face.

"I'll go as well," Thor offered grimly. "Perhaps he'll wish for a sparring partner."

"Hope you're more durable than the punching bags," Tony muttered.

"Yes, go," Jane agreed. She cast Thor a faint smile. "I'm not hungry anymore, anyway."

He kissed her hand and left. Tony took a deep breath, wishing Pepper was there. "Come on," he said savagely to Bruce and Jane. "Let's finish building this stupid thing."

* * *

**A/N: Seriously, only Howard would be told to destroy a sensitive letter, actually destroy it, but then write another letter talking about it. *sighs longsufferingly* Next chapter will be up soon!**


	3. till then my windows ache

3\. till then my windows ache

.

He needed to get away. He couldn't stay there, knowing that two floors beneath him scientists were working on a time machine he would never be able to use.

He understood why he couldn't. After the confrontation at the lab he'd read about the theories of time travel, the potential of a paradox, the damaging butterfly effect one changed detail could have on future events. Even though he felt like he was just plain old Steve Rogers he knew there was no way to separate himself from Captain America, and Captain America simply _couldn't_ return to life before the 21st century.

So he left, pretending he didn't hear the concern beneath Tony's snarky comments about his vacation, or feel the worry in Pepper's grip when she hugged him goodbye. He pretended he didn't know Nat and Clint were tailing him, though it made him feel warm (beneath his exasperation) to know that they cared about him.

He made a point of stopping at places he thought they might like to see—if they were going to be following him, they may as well get some enjoyment out of it.

He rode his motorcycle around the country, exploring anything that looked interesting. He'd never had the time or the resources to do anything like this before—while he'd seen a lot of Europe during the war he certainly hadn't been a tourist, and before then he'd barely had enough money for food and rent. Travelling for pleasure was completely new to him. And after a couple months of interacting with strangers, he realized the world wasn't as different as it had seemed. Details of the world had changed, certainly, but people were still essentially the same. They still loved and fought and teased and laughed, they still studied and learned to do things they loved, they still got married and raised families and worried over their kids.

This was still a world he could fight for.

He turned his bike homeward, resolving to stop somewhere along the way for new sketchbooks and pencils. His fingers were itching to draw.

.

.

Natasha closed the door of her quarters behind her and let out a sigh. This last mission had been grueling. She was going to take a long, _long_, hot shower, and then—

"Welcome home, Agent Romanoff," JARVIS politely interrupted her planning. "Mr. Stark has requested your immediate presence in his laboratory."

"_Now_, JARVIS?"

"I'm afraid so."

She sighed again, a sigh of a vastly different sort. "I'll be down as soon as I've had a shower. Tell him if he comes up here to pester me I will disembowel him."

"Very good, miss."

.

.

"Finally!" Tony exclaimed when he saw her. "Help me out here—the time machine is ready, it's done, we tested it and calibrated it and we're good to go, but Bruce and Pepper say I can't wear the suit! Jane doesn't care, but even Thor says I shouldn't wear it!"

Thor explained mildly, "My experience is that attempting to blend in is to be preferred to being obviously and dramatically out of place."

Tony made a rude noise and Pepper and Bruce rolled their eyes.

"You know you can't risk anyone back then seeing it," Pepper said with the air of someone who has needed to repeat something ten times too many for her liking.

"Tony, you won't need it anyway," Natasha told him impatiently. "It's _1949_. What do you think is going to happen?"

He scowled at her. "Just for that, you get to be the one to come with me."

She stared at him incredulously.

"Well, I certainly wasn't going to be the one to go with him," Bruce said matter-of-factly.

"Yes, you make the most sense," Pepper agreed briskly. "I can't go—I have a meeting in an hour. And you'll be able to stop him before he does something stupid."

"Hey!" Tony protested.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence," she replied dryly, then took another look around. "Wait, where's Clint? Why can't he go with you?"

"He's distracting Cap. Besides, it's gotta be a woman. Equality of the sexes, yay!"

Bruce looked longsuffering. "What Tony _means_ is that since the mission is to talk to a woman it seems better for a woman to be there instead of two men."

"And I have to be here in case something goes wrong," Jane explained a touch smugly. She was leaning as far back as she could in her rolling desk chair, her socked feet propped on a table. "So I can't go."

"Pssh, nothing's going to go wrong." Tony clapped his hands together. "Right, you ready to go? Come on over here, all you need to do is strap this thing around your arm…"

.

.

Peggy woke with a start, her hand already on the gun beneath her pillow.

Someone was in her apartment.

She took a moment to thrust her feet into shoes and pull a knitted jumper over her pajamas, then crept on silent feet towards the glow of lamp light and murmured voices in her living room. There were only two who were speaking, but she couldn't rule out the presence of more. She took a slow, deep breath, then burst around the corner. "Stop right there," she barked. "Backs against the wall! Hands where I can see them!"

The man's hands shot up in the air and he growled to his companion, "Damn it, I told you all I should wear the suit!" He began mimicking a variety of differently pitched voices, "'No, Tony, the suit is too futuristic!' 'It's too modern!' 'You can't risk it being seen by anyone in the past!' 'You won't need it anyway!' Well, you know what else the suit is? It's bullet-proof!"

The woman with him rolled her eyes, looking bored, one foot pressed flat against the wall and her hands dangling loosely at her sides.

He huffed and turned his attention to the other woman in the room. "Look, lady, I hate to admit this, truly, but of the two of us I'm not the most dangerous one right now; you're pointing your gun at the wrong person."

"I beg your pardon," Peggy retorted icily, her gun still steadily aimed at his face. "You seem to be laboring under the misapprehension that I'm incapable of neutralizing both of you."

The other woman snickered appreciatively. "I've been trying to match Steve up with _completely_ the wrong sort of woman."

"Not helping!" the man hissed, watching Peggy's knuckles whiten around the gun.

"Who are you and what do you want?" she demanded, trying to ignore the mention of Steve, because clearly he couldn't be Steve Rogers. Steve was dead.

They were just trying to rattle her.

"I'm Natasha Romanoff and this is Tony Stark," the redhead told her.

"Sta—" Peggy cut herself off with a muttered curse. "Did Howard send you here?"

Tony screwed up his face and waggled one of his raised hands in a half-and-half gesture. "Sort of? Not now though, no point in hunting him down now because he won't know what you're talking about, but in the future."

"In the future," she repeated flatly. "Pull the other one."

"No, no, really. We're from 2013. Here, let me show you. Don't shoot me! I have something you should see, one of Howard's notebooks; it's right here."

"Stop. Toss the notebook over to me. Both of you sit on the floor. Hands on top of your legs." She slid the book closer to her with her foot, not taking her eyes off them as they complied. "Now, what am I looking for?"

"First page," Natasha replied, still looking irritatingly amused. "You can't miss it."

The first page was a letter, dated three days hence, and did appear to be in Howard's handwriting. The letter was addressed to Tony. Who was apparently Howard's _son_? She tried, but couldn't imagine Howard in any sort of parental role.

If what they were saying was true, no wonder the man called his father by his first name. It actually was more convincing to her than if he'd called him Dad.

She flicked her eyes up to check on her intruders. Tony was fidgeting, drumming out some rhythmic pattern on his thigh. Natasha glanced at him, then looked at Peggy and rolled her eyes. "He's incapable of being still," she informed her, no apology in her tone.

Peggy didn't respond, simply returned to the letter. And oh, so she's supposed to be disappearing the next day. Lovely.

She scoffed lightly, flicked her eyes up again, then read about Howard's fears for her, which, if he actually had written this, were rather touching. Then there was Tony, a friend, and a time machine, which was preposterous, but as it had already been implied when they claimed to have come from the future it didn't surprise her.

But then there was Steve. Steve frozen alive, and her breath caught in her chest at the thought and her hand holding the gun shook and she was suddenly furious because _how dare they_.

Tony yelped as she flung the notebook at him.

"Who are you really?" she demanded fiercely. "Why are you here?"

"We already told you!" he protested. "Damn it, I am never going anywhere without the suit again!"

"Show her your phone," Natasha interjected calmly. "I know you have pictures of Steve on there." She didn't flinch as Peggy made an inarticulate growling sort of noise and pointed the gun at her, simply continued, "It's true. He's alive."

"Look, this is a smartphone, the latest Stark model; it's a phone and a camera and a computer and you don't have the internet so don't worry about the rest of the stuff it can do, but…here." Tony slid a small device with a glass screen over, and before it was halfway to her she could see the shield.

And then it came to a stop near her toes and her breath hitched because she could see Steve.

His uniform was different, but his hair was tousled the way it always was when he first pulled off his helmet, and the tired-yet-alert way he was holding himself was exactly as she'd seen him after so many missions during the war. His lip was split and he was filthy and it all looked so _real_.

_Could it be possible?_

"Put your finger on the screen and slide it to the left," Natasha said, a glimmer of mischief on her face. "Let's see what else Stark has on there."

After a moment, Peggy did.

There was picture after picture of people she didn't recognize in settings that were unfamiliar. They weren't what she would consider futuristic. If she'd been asked to predict what the future would look like she would have come up with something far different. But perhaps that difference was actually a mark in the favor of her intruders' honesty?

Her fingertip rested on the screen for a moment as she thought about that and the picture beneath it came to life, startling her so badly she nearly dropped the device.

"Oh good!" Tony said brightly, "You found a video. Which one is it? Push the button on the side of the phone to turn the volume up."

She found the correct button and his disembodied voice came from the phone.

_…just saying, we need to memorialize this moment, we need a record, we need _proof_ that Captain America has been awake for almost a year and has still never seen _Star Wars_._

The video panned across a room, a lounge of some sort, with deeply cushioned furniture. There were several people there, including Natasha and a woman with lighter red hair who had featured in many of the images Peggy had flipped through. The picture stopped moving then and settled on Steve, who was leaning back into the cushions of his oversized chair with his long legs stretched out in front of him, a bottle of beer in his hand and a grin on his face. _Aw, come off it, Stark_, he said, and his voice…

Peggy would know that voice anywhere.

_Tell the truth now, Gramps—and keep in mind that you're a national icon and just like George Washington you cannot tell a lie—have you, Steve Rogers, Captain America, ever seen _Star Wars_?_

_I have never seen _Star Wars_. Happy now?_

_Incandescently. I'm going to sell this video to the media and become rich._

There were hoots and jeers from several different voices and what looked like a handful of popcorn flying at the screen before the video abruptly ended. Peggy stared blankly at the phone before dropping into the armchair closest to her and lowering her gun into her lap. "He's really alive."

"Yes."

"But right now, right now he's alive but he's _frozen_, and he…" Peggy pressed her hand over her mouth and willed herself not to be sick. "I have to call Howard. I have to…we can't leave him there. We have to find him—"

"You can't," Natasha interrupted gently.

"You don't understand! I told Howard we should stop looking! That he was dead and he wouldn't want anyone risking their lives looking for him. But I knew if they found him they would never stop testing him, trying to recreate the serum—he wasn't Steve Rogers in their eyes, he was just this _thing_, this _weapon_ that they thought they owned. So I told Howard to stop. I told him to stop, and Steve has been alive this whole time!" She took a shaky breath, horrified at the rising hysteria in her voice. _Pull yourself together, Margaret. _She made a slashing movement with her hand. "None of that matters. If he's alive then he can defend himself. There's no reason why we can't find him now."

"Yeah, sorry," and he really did look sorry, drat the man, "but there's actually a lot of reasons why you can't. You don't have the technology now that we do—I wasn't there so I don't know for sure, but it might not have been as simple as just letting him thaw out. Also, don't forget, what's the future for you is history for us. He's a pretty significant historical figure and it would change too many things if he's found earlier; that's why we couldn't let him come back when he—_ow_!" He rubbed his side and glared at Natasha. "Did you just _pluck_ me? What was that for?"

"Just fulfilling my role," she explained in a too-innocent voice. "Pepper said not to let you do anything stupid."

"I wasn't! I was just saying that—"

"He wanted to come back?" Peggy interrupted, and Natasha looked pointedly at Tony.

"She didn't need to know that. But yes," she turned her attention to Peggy, "he did. He's happier now, but he had a difficult time at first."

"And there was the alien attack," Tony interjected. "Nothing says, 'I'm in a whole different century' like fighting aliens! Not that _I_ ever expected to be fighting aliens; I felt like I was in a whole different century too, but you know what I mean."

Peggy raised an eyebrow. "Do I?" she asked repressively, and Natasha snickered. Then she took a good look at them. "Wait, are you serious? There really were aliens?"

"Yep." He popped the 'p'. "They're gone now though, or dead. Well, all the bad ones are. Thor's still around."

"Thor. As in the Scandinavian god? He's named for him?"

"He is him," Tony said blithely. "Turns out he's an alien. Who knew, huh?"

She stared at the two of them for a long moment. "Right. Well then, tell me about the future. It seems there's a lot to learn, and I'm certainly not going into it blindly."

So Natasha told her about their team, the Avengers, using the phone to show her the different people on it and explain their roles, while Tony interjected seemingly meaningless bits of information about them, and about science, technology, politics, and society, that actually were quite useful to her in the end. The Avengers were affiliated with SHIELD, and it was gratifying to know that her agency still existed and was hopefully still doing some good in the world. Tony told her what she suspected was an edited version of reading Howard's notebooks and discovering the letter which led to the building of the time machine.

"Steve doesn't know we're here," Natasha concluded. "He knew what Stark and the others were building, but he doesn't know why."

She frowned. "See, that's where things don't make sense. Why would you do this? Do you really expect me to believe you built a time machine for the sole purpose of coming to find me and take me to the future?"

Tony shrugged. "Well, not the sole purpose, the _foremost_ purpose, let's call it that, because I think we all know we'll be using this again. But Peggy—I can call you Peggy, right?" He ignored her raised eyebrow and barreled on, "Peggy, Howard started it _because_ you disappeared, so if you don't disappear he'll never start it, which means I'll never fix all his ridiculous ideas about physics and finish it—some would say that it _has_ to happen or we could never be here in the first place, which obviously, we are, so… Not that you don't have a choice, because I'm sure Cap would be all about you having choices; he's kind of modern for being so old-fashioned. Just saying that you must have already made that choice or we wouldn't be here." He shrugged again, his hands spread before him, and smiled charmingly at her.

Peggy stared at him. "You are most definitely Howard's son."

"I'm not sure whether to be offended or flattered by that remark," Tony responded, frowning.

Natasha voted cheerfully for offended, and Peggy sighed. "Frankly, it depends on the day." She picked up the notebook and shook it at him. "But honestly, the idiocy of that man! To destroy the letter I wrote him, but then to write another one of his own with the same information!"

"Well, if he'd saved it you'd have to copy it exactly; this way you can just write it however you want." He slanted a glance at her. "Assuming you're going to write it; you are going to write it, right?"

She was quiet for a moment. This certainly wasn't a decision to be made lightly, and though she longed to see Steve again, that longing was the worst sort of reason to decide to go. "If I go with you—if!" she emphasized, since Tony looked as though he was about to bounce up right then and there to strap the time travel device he'd shown her to her wrist, "what will I do? I have a life here and a career, responsibilities; I can't just fling them aside willy nilly."

Natasha's face became expressionless. "If Steve isn't sufficient incentive, then perhaps you—"

"Of course he's sufficient incentive," Peggy snapped. "If anything, he's _too_ _much_ incentive, but I can't go with you to just be Cap's girl, to have nothing to do but care for the house and wait for him to come home."

"Well, what do you want to do?" Tony shrugged, looking confused. "I mean, sky's the limit, really."

"No, she's right; that's one thing we didn't explain." Natasha was relaxed again. "Peggy, when Tony said something about getting flak for making Pepper his CEO, it was because her work experience didn't seem to warrant it, not because she's a woman." Tony made a skeptical noise and she amended, "Or not entirely because of that, because it's true that there still aren't many women at that level of business leadership. But a woman with a career is a completely normal thing now. No one will expect you to stay home if you don't want to."

There was a long silence. "Very well," Peggy said briskly. "I agree."


	4. till you will see me again

4\. till you will see me again and live in me

.

She moved methodically around her apartment, gathering items to pack. She couldn't take much: a change or two of clothing, a pair of pajamas, undergarments. Some photographs and letters. Her stash of emergency cash. Her gun.

Her hands were steady and she was the picture of composure. One would never know by looking how her mind whirled.

Because she was going to see Steve.

She missed him. For years, she hadn't permitted herself to think about how desperately she missed him.

(But she had, she had, and now that she knew he was alive, that she would see him again, it took all her self-control to keep from being overwhelmed by the emotions frothing within her.)

It had all started so simply. Her near-pity upon meeting him shifted so rapidly to respect and admiration. He'd slipped under her guard before she'd even thought to be wary of him, and he'd been so earnest and humble and just so _good_ that she'd loved him before she had a chance to be afraid.

And then he died, and once she got past the shock she was so furious at him for leaving her before they could even speak of a future together.

(It didn't last long. A day, maybe two? She never was able to be angry at Steve for long, a mystifying state of affairs which remained true even after he was gone.)

The serum hadn't changed him, not in any way that really counted. His physical strength had finally caught up to his character, was all. He'd never stopped being himself: the man who hated bullies and injustice, the man who threw himself on the hand grenade. When he was alive she'd loved that about him. She couldn't hate him for it, even though it had killed him in the end.

And so she'd turned her thoughts to protecting him. She'd persuaded Howard to stop searching, believing that the only way for Steve to rest in peace was for him to remain buried in the ice. She'd taken the last vial of his blood, pouring her unrealized dreams into the river along with it, and said her goodbyes.

(It would be a long time before she forgave herself for believing that Steve Rogers, after all the impossible things he'd done, couldn't do one more impossible thing.)

(For leaving him there, buried _alive_ in the ice.)

As she packed she spaced out her remaining belongings, leaving no evidence that anything was missing.

Life had been a constant battle since the war. People praised her wartime accomplishments, yet were at the same time bewildered or offended by her insistence on remaining in active service. She had fought to keep her job, fought to see justice done regardless of who got the credit for it, fought to shape the concept of SHIELD into something worthy of its name.

(Part of her found it incomprehensible that she would leave behind everything she'd worked so hard for.)

(The other part was demanding that she _hurry_.)

She forced both parts into silence and took a look around, reassuring herself there was nothing awry, no evidence of her packing.

She didn't know what was waiting for her in the future. While she was certain that Steve had admired her, he'd never spoken of it or made any advances. Neither Tony nor Natasha had said anything of Steve's feelings, but surely they wouldn't have come if they believed he didn't want to see her?

(This may well be the most foolish thing she ever did.)

She draped her coat and gloves neatly over her case, set her hat on top, and sat down at her tiny desk to write Howard.

(Foolish or not, she was going.)

.

.

Natasha had discreetly watched as Peggy packed, the raised corner of her mouth betraying her approval of how well she was covering her tracks. Now she was ensconced in Peggy's most comfortable armchair, looking perfectly at ease, though there was still an alertness about her that Peggy could only approve. Tony, on the other hand, was sprawled on the floor next to her desk scribbling schematics on pieces of Peggy's good stationery (that he must have filched from her desk drawer while she packed, the wretch.) To judge by his mutterings, he was designing a "suit" that would fit in a briefcase.

Peggy shook her head almost fondly at him then briskly wrote her letter, not allowing herself to waste time overthinking it—as Tony had said, since the original was destroyed she could write what she liked. She knew to tell Howard to burn it, but she would have told him that even without knowing she had written it before. She was sorely tempted to include a lecture on the foolishness of writing down information received in correspondence so sensitive that it included instructions to destroy it, but restrained herself. Given the circumstances, his idiocy was apparently necessary for once.

Tears stung her eyes. She would miss them: Howard, Jarvis and Ana, Angie… she would miss them all.

She stood abruptly enough that she startled Tony out of his designing, set her hat at its usual jaunty angle, and pulled on her coat and gloves. "I'll just drop this in the box outside, shall I?"

Tony frowned after her as she went out the door. "She okay? What'd I miss?"

"She's leaving everything she knows and going almost seventy years into the future," Natasha retorted sarcastically. "Does there need to be anything else?"

She rose and stood hidden in the shadow of the curtain, peering carefully out the window. After a moment, Peggy appeared on the sidewalk, walking partway down the block to the mailbox. Without hesitation, she dropped the letter in and spun on her heel to return to the apartment building. Natasha watched as she composedly greeted three different people, even stooping to pet a friendly dog. "She's good," she murmured. "People will remember seeing her."

A young woman came out of the building as Peggy neared it and they stopped to speak to each other. "Miss Hazel Simmons, I presume," Nat said, as Peggy smiled brightly and said goodbye. "On record as the last person to see Agent Carter in 1949."

Natasha moved away from the window and pulled her sleeves down over her hands, pressing and sliding the fabric anywhere she and Tony had touched. Wiping it clean would look suspicious, but smudged and unreadable prints were normal. "Put those papers in your pocket," she commanded him, "and make sure you don't leave anything here."

He shoved the papers in his pocket with his phone, then hopped to his feet and rubbed his sleeve-covered elbow over the desk drawer pull.

"Thief," Peggy accused him mildly, and fought to hide a laugh as he startled. She opened and closed the drawer, covering whatever remained of his fingerprints with her own.

"When did you get back in here?" he demanded, and rolled his eyes to heaven as both women snickered at him. "Spies," he muttered with disdain, wiping off the pencil he'd been using and tossing it back in the cup on her desk. "There are already too many spies in the Tower and we're adding one more. Just what we need; I must have been crazy to build this time machine. You ready to go?"

"One moment," Peggy replied, pulling her compact from her purse. She touched up her lipstick, took a last look around her apartment, and picked up her case. "Now I'm ready," she said, and smiled, her lips a fearless slash of red.

.

.

"I beg your pardon, Captain Rogers," JARVIS said politely, interrupting his card game with Clint, "but Mr. Stark is requesting your immediate presence in his laboratory."

Steve instinctively looked toward the disembodied voice, even though he knew it wasn't necessary. Tony had (repeatedly) assured them there were no cameras in the private quarters. "Yeah? I'm allowed in now? Well, tell him I'm on my way."

"Very good, sir."

He tossed his hand face down on the table. "Sorry, Clint; want me to text you when I'm done with whatever Tony wants?" He flashed a grin before continuing, "so I can finish beating you?"

Clint snorted. "You keep telling yourself that, old man. And nah, I'll come with. You know I never pass up the chance to irritate Stark. "

.

.

Steve was laughing as they walked into the lab, the two of them still exchanging good natured insults. He glanced over the surprisingly large number of people gathered there and choked on a breath, his eyes snapping back to focus on Peggy.

"What did you do?" he demanded, clearly horrified (yet just as clearly unable to tear his gaze away from her.) "Did you _force_ her to come here?"

"You _idiot_," Natasha said disgustedly, and nodded in approval as Clint stomped on Steve's foot with a muttered, "Dude, seriously?"

"What kind of person do you think I am?" Tony demanded, before pausing and raising a hand. "No, wait, stop; don't tell me."

Peggy just looked at Steve with her eyebrows raised and her lips pressed together. Once she was certain they'd stopped trembling she said coolly, "Apparently, Captain Rogers, you don't remember me very well if you think I could have been brought here against my will. But no matter." She broke eye contact and reached down to pick up her bags. "I'm certain Mr. Stark can return me whence I came if that's your preference."

"No, I'm sorry, I'm sorry," Steve said desperately. "I didn't mean that you… You know I don't… I just… You're here. You're _here_. _Peggy_."

The corners of her mouth curled up. "You still don't know how to talk to women very well, do you?"

His emotions were raw and bare on his face and in his voice. "Please don't go."

Despite her best intentions she could feel everything about herself softening. Steve always had that effect on her, drat him. "I won't," she promised.

They stood and stared at each other, the air thickening.

"Time to go," Pepper murmured. The others slipped out, craning their necks to look back over their shoulders, while she tugged a protesting Tony towards the door.

The instant the door closed Steve lurched forward. "Peggy."

He stopped a foot away and she grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him to her and he smelled the same, how could he still smell the same? And then he was on his knees, his arms wrapped around her hips, and she could feel the fine tremors moving through him.

"You disappeared, Peg," he said, his breath hot against her stomach, and her fingers slid through his hair learning the shape of his skull and it was Steve—_Steve_. "I looked for you and everything said you disappeared and I didn't know what happened to you."

"Yes, well, apparently I came here to you, my darling," she murmured shakily.

His arms tightened around her. "You don't know what I thought. I thought you… Peggy. Peggy, I thought you were dead. I thought something terrible happened to you, and if only I'd been there I could have helped you, and—"

"Shush," she interrupted firmly. "Something wonderful happened."

"_Yes_," he agreed, tears in his voice, and she dropped to her knees, pulling his face to hers, and kissed him.


	5. epilogue

5\. epilogue

.

Those who worked for the fledgling SHIELD never knew what became of Peggy Carter. After a few days of flailing panic, Howard Stark seemed to inherit some of her stiff upper lip, pulled himself together, and moved forward. Perhaps he was becoming hardened to losing members of his inner circle, some of the girls in the typing pool speculated, and felt their opinion proven true when winter turned to spring with no mention of a new summer expedition to search for Captain America. Others shrugged and assumed Agent Carter just never meant that much to him in the first place. After all, everyone knew how interchangeable and easily replaceable he found women to be.

Colonel Phillips was as stone-faced as ever, irascible and impatient enough that even the most daring were afraid to examine his emotions too closely. Not that a lack of close observance prevented the die-hard gossips from speculating, of course. But there was one thing all the agents could agree on: neither man would permit anyone to forget about Agent Carter and her role in forming SHIELD. Her vision and beliefs were the underpinning of everything they did; they were thoroughly taught during training, and constantly reinforced thereafter.

Some years later, there was a junior agent who claimed he saw Colonel Phillips and Howard Stark one night, leaning back in desk chairs in front of SHIELD's memorial to Peggy Carter, reminiscing and sharing a bottle of Scotch. And, he insisted, there were tears in their eyes.

But he had a reputation as a bit of a prankster, so no one ever really believed him.

.

.

It was idyllic, at first. There were so very many things to discover and learn. She settled easily into a job as the Avenger's liaison with SHIELD, and with Natasha and Pepper she enjoyed her first genuine, honest friendships with women since primary school.

And through it all there was Steve. The two of them grew closer and closer so comfortably and naturally that his proposal, when it came four months after her arrival in 2013, was as easily agreed to as it was thrilling. She could honestly say she'd never been so happy in her life.

Everything was wonderful… until it wasn't.

He just didn't seem happy about their marriage. It made no sense. How could a man who cried when she accepted his proposal now become so distracted and distant at any mention of their wedding?

Finally, after yet another failed attempt to select a date, she couldn't stand it any longer. _Better to know the worst than to wonder_, she thought, and forced herself to say flatly, "You know, we don't have to get married if you don't want to."

He looked shocked. "No, I do!"

Peggy released a breath, more relieved than she was willing to allow to show. "I don't understand then, darling," she continued more gently. "Why have you been so unhappy?"

"I haven't…" His voice trailed off at her expression and he began again. "I want to marry you more than anything, Peg, I swear. I could never be unhappy about that." He rubbed the back of his neck uncomfortably. "It's just… I've been thinking a lot about Bucky. I always figured if I ever got married he would be my best man." His fleeting grin was a mix of nostalgia and grief. "At least, he always said I would be his. Back then I didn't think there ever would be a girl who would want to marry me, but I knew if it ever happened…"

There was a long pause.

"Right," Peggy said crisply, and took his large hand in hers. "Come with me."

.

.

"You want to use my time machine to do _what_?"

Steve hadn't known what his brilliant fiancée was going to ask Tony, but once past the first shocked seconds he eagerly leaped into the fray. "He's a fantastic sniper, Tony, best I've ever seen. We could really use him, especially when Clint is away."

"So, what, we're going to build an old person brigade now? The Young Avengers and the Wheelchair Club?" He glanced up at Peggy and smirked. "No offense."

She crossed one perfectly healthy leg over the other and smirked back. "None taken."

"But seriously, we can't just use the time machine for whatever we feel like; we have to be more responsible than that," Tony said, and Steve clenched his jaw so hard that for a moment Peggy expected to hear a tooth crack.

"You—you used it to go see dinosaurs!" he finally exploded.

A fleeting smile crossed Tony's face. "Yeah. That was fun. Still wish Bruce would have gone with and brought Big Green out to play, but you can't have everything. But!" he pointed his pen at Steve, "there was no chance of that messing with the time stream. We can't… no matter how much we might want to, we can't go back and save everyone."

Steve paused at the falter in Tony's voice, then pressed on, "That's the thing, though, don't you see? It wouldn't mess up the time stream at all, because he… he was Missing in Action, Presumed Killed. They never found his body, but they changed it to Killed in Action, after the war." His voice had dropped close to a murmur, but he continued stoically, "I checked. After I woke up."

Peggy squeezed his hand and agreed. "General Phillips sent men to look, once the area was out of Axis hands. But the fall was so great; even though they found nothing there was no hope he'd survived."

Steve's mind was deep in the memories he usually tried so hard to block out. "He fell, and I tried, I… but I couldn't catch him. We just need to figure out a way to catch him without hurting him. We can't do it close to the train or I would see it, but we can't let him fall too far—"

Tony interrupted, waving his hands. "Wait, wait, wait. So what you're saying is, I can wear the suit?"

Steve opened his mouth to reply, but Peggy spoke smoothly over him. "You won't be able to wear your usual suit. Visibility was very good that day. You'll need to build a special one, one which can't be seen against the snow. And the rocks, and I believe there was a river, wasn't there, darling? So yes, definitely a different suit." She turned her attention fully back to Tony and raised a doubtful eyebrow. "If you think that's something you're able to do?"

Tony stared at her for a long moment before snorting. "Lady, you are speaking my language." He began to pull up various screens and displays, tweaking the images while he continued distractedly, "Don't think I didn't notice you manipulating me, because I did, I absolutely did, but this is juuust the kind of manipulation I like."

Peggy sat back and watched him in satisfaction, while graciously pretending not to notice Steve snickering into the side of her head.

.

.

The mission (that Tony insisted on calling "Save Capsicle's BFF!" despite everyone else's groans and eye rolls) was successfully carried out ten weeks later. The team dispersed after their return to the tower and Pepper had a meeting, so Tony wandered down to his lab, pondering modifications to the suitcase suit. There had to be a way to make it smaller…

His mind was so busy that at first he didn't notice the man hunched over one of the far tables paging through a notebook. But as soon as he saw him he was swamped with nausea - he reached wildly for something to hold onto - so dizzy - something was wrong, something was very, very wrong –

Then a moment later, a literal blink of the eye, and the disorientation was gone. He felt good, great even. Was it normal to feel so good?

He twitched and dismissed the odd thought - he had more pressing matters to deal with, like seeing if there was something wrong with the time machine, or maybe something wrong with the shawarma he'd had for lunch. But first things first: "Pop, what are you doing down here? Does Mom know where you are? You know she's gonna kill you if she doesn't."

Howard glanced up from the page, waving an age-spotted hand dismissively. "Eh, it makes her happy to plan all the ways she's going to kill me."

Tony rolled his eyes and threw his arm gently over his father's stooped shoulders, guiding him out of the lab and towards the elevator. "Come on, old man. If Mom lets you live you need to be rested up for dinner; got another old friend for you to see."

* * *

**A/N: And that's it! Two one-shots coming eventually: a Natasha POV of Bucky's rescue which is mostly written, and a Howard POV of Peggy's disappearance which is still in the notes stage. No promises of when they'll show up as life has been hugely stressful the past year or so, and stress unfortunately makes my already slow writing get even slower, but I can promise they will be posted. So if you're interested, follow me or this (I'll update this when I post them - wish I could make a series on here like I can on Ao3) - and as always, thanks for reading!**


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